Olim Umba
by Ater Magia
Summary: Umbras (shadows) are everywhere you go. No two are the same, just as the world isn't black and white. It's shades of gray. All shadows aren't as simple as they seem-they are as complicated as that which they are a shadow of. Which shadows will you encoun
1. Margaret's Request

She sat across the marble table from me, her back to the open doors of the café

Okay well, this is my first fanfic (actually more like my second, but let's think about my horrible snitches of beginning to write..) under the name of Ater Magia (Black Magic in latin). The title, Ōlim Umbra (meaning Once Shadows in Latin)I plan to make a series out of this, email me with any suggestions, comments, anything at all at kiss_me_gorgeous01@yahoo.com. This is set place after Harry and Co. are out of Hogwarts, when they are around the age of 25. Please review ! The *'s indicate memories. Enjoy !

Ōlim Umbra

She sat across the marble table from me, her back to the open doors of the café. She was tall, and had kept her dark-brown hair loose and long all her life, save for a leather barette such as she wore now, which held only her long bangs behind her head to flow down her back. She wore gold hoops dangling from her small earlobes, and her soft white summer clothes had a gypsy flare to them, perhaps because of the red scarf tied around the waist of her full cotton skirt. 
    
    "Margaret, why do you ask of me to do this thing?" I pronounced her name simply, in the American style, which I had developed amazingly quickly, though years ago when we'd first met, she had spelled it Marguerite and pronounced it with the slight touch of her old French. 

"Who else can I ask ?" she answered pointedly. "Who else can do such athing ?" There was the rough sound from the kitchen door, the creak of neglected hinges. A string-figure of a waiter in an apron appeared at our side, his feet scratching against the dusty flagstones of the floor. 

"Rum," she said. "St James. Bring a bottle of it." He murmured something which even with her vampiric hearing I doubtedhad bothered to catch. Overhead fans churned lazily, and the floor had not been cleaned in a hundred years. And away he shuffled, leaving us alone again in the dimly lit room, with all of its long doors thrown open to the long avenue in the heart of New Orleans. The twlight was softly fading, the air filled with the fragrances of the city andthe sweetness of spring. What a sort of mircle it was that she had chosen such a place, and that it was so strangly deserted on such a fine evening as this.

In the still café I watched Margret take another deep drink from her rum. I treasured the interval in which she let her eyes pass around the dusty room. 

"Your motives are not the same as mine. What you ask of me would…_she_ and I, among others are interconnected like vines, sometimes thorny, forever circling and recircling the same tree. Your life, Margaret might have nothing to do with that bitter struggle, but don't try and get those who are any more tangled among the throns than they already are." She sipped thr rum, rolling it around a bit before swallowing it. But she didn't fool me. She'd soon start drinking it fast again. She set the glass aside and let her fingers spread wide apart on the soiled marble. Rings. Those were were her Great Grandmother's many rings, beautiful gold with various wonderous stones. She's worn them even in the jungles, when I'd thought it unwise. She's never been prone to fear of any sort.

"Don't back away from me old friend." She said, trying to seduce me into some sort of a bargin. I watched her drink her rum more slowly, I saw her eyes become glazed over with the pleasure of it, and her face soften wonderfully as the rum worked itself through her veins. Her complexion looked perfect.

"I'm going home." She announced, aware that I wasn't going to bargin anytime soon.

"No, you're not. You've drank even more rum than I predicted. Look, you drunk over half the bottle. And I know you'll drink the rest of the bottle as soon as you get in the car."

"Still the gentleman, I see. Alright, than escort me back to my house."

"That neighborhood, even at this hour ? You're a vampire and you're drunk. Here, we'll just cap this bottle And we'll put it in this canvas bag of yours and I'll walk with you to a hotel. Take my arm." For a small second she looked playful and defiant, but than gave me a shrug, smiling faintly, and gave up her purse to my insistence and wrapped her arm around mine.

The harpsichord music was somewhat of a comfort, as Mozart always is, with his merriment, no matter what the composition, but nevertheless, I felt restless and unsafe in these warm rooms where I was accustomed to spend many hours in comfort alone or with various people.

For two days afterward my meeting with Margaret, while gulping down ridiculous amounts of the delcious full-bodied Macallan Scotch, I tried to piece her mysterious request together. Yet, no matter how hard I tried I couldn't seem to figure out what she would get out of me doing this request of hers.

My mind kept shifting back and forth, all my thoughts circling each other, as a vulture its pray, all circling back to _her_. I remembered everything about her, as one tends to recall the flavor of a twenty-five year old sinlge-malt Highland Scotch.

_*I loved the warmth, the sound of the soft rain, the wonderful tone of the Spainish and Native American voices and the sight of so many of them in their beautiful white cloths with their gentle faces made me feel wonderfully drenched in the cultural riches of a foreign and still unspoiled place._

_ _

_The jungle was breathtaking. Banana and citrus trees all but blocked our way on both sides of the winding uphill drive here and there were giant mahogany trees soaring to a hundred and fifty feet and out of the high canopy above came the frightening but unmistakble roar of howler monkeys and the cry of countless species of exotic bird._

_ _

_Our little world was drenched in green but again and again we found ourselves on a high cliff from which we could view the canopy of the junlge as it spread out on the volcanic slopes below._

_ _

_Very soon it became apparent that we had entered a cloud forest, and again and again we experienced that marvelous sensation when the clouds truely enveloped us and the sweet dampness penetrated the coverless windows of the jeep and settled on our skin._

_At last we reached Santa Cruz de Flora, a jungle village, so small and so out of the way that the recent political fueds in the country had not touched it at all._

_ _

She announced that it was very much as she remembered it—a small grouping of brightly painted thatched-roof buildings, and a small but remarkably old stone Spainish church.There were pigs, chickens, and turkeys roaming everywhere. And I spied some cornfields cut from the jungle, but not very much. The town plaza was beaten dirt.

_ _

When our jeep pulled in, the gentle local inhabitants came out to greet us rather sympathetically, proving my opinon that the native Maya Indians are some of the most enchanting people in the world. I saw faces about me, which immediatly reminded me of the ancient cermics of Central America preserved in Maya and possibly Inca art.

_Though I was hot, I was extremly happy. The village was fringed with coconut palms and there were even some pine trees due to the elevation, and for the first time in my life, as I walked about the bordering jungles there were many moments when I was so purely happy that I could have cried.*_

_ _

I folded up the pages of the letter I had been reading, put them back in the envelope, and sat quietly for a long time, my elbows on my desk, my head bowed.

And then, the memories came back in a sudden flash.

*_The smoke from the candles grew dense before the statues. It seemed their faces were full of movement, their eyes sweeping the scene before them. Even their drapery appeared alive. The incense burnt bright in the center of the flagstones, fanned by the breeze that steadily increased._

_ _

_The chanting started, their voices flowing through the air with the strong scent of the insense._

_ _

___"Bide the Wiccan Laws we must _

_In Perfect Love and Perfect Trust. _

_Live and let live, _

_Fairly take and fairly give. _

_Cast the Circle thrice about _

_To keep the evil spirits out. _

_To bind the spell every time _

_Let the spell be spake in rhyme. _

_Soft of eye and light of touch, _

_Speak little, listen much. _

_Deosil go by the waxing moon, _

_Chanting out the Witches' Rune. _

_Widdershins go by the waning moon, _

_Chanting out the baneful rune. _

_When the Lady's moon is new, _

_Kiss the hand to her, times two. _

_When the moon rides at her peak, _

_Then your heart's desire seek. _

_Heed the North wind's mighty gale, _

_Lock the door and drop the sail. _

_When the wind comes from the South, _

_Love will kiss thee on the mouth. _

_When the wind blows from the West, _

_Departed souls will have no rest. _

_When the wind blows from the East, _

_Expect the new and set the feast. _

_Nine woods in the cauldron go, _

_Burn them fast and burn them slow. _

_Elder be the Lady's tree, _

_Burn it not or cursed you'll be. _

_When the Wheel begins to turn, _

_Let the Beltane fires burn. _

_When the Wheel has turned to Yule, _

_Light the log and the Horned One rules. _

_Heed ye Flower, Bush and Tree, _

_By the Lady, blessed be. _

_Where the rippling waters go, _

_Cast a stone and truth you'll know. _

_When ye have a true need, _

_Hearken not to others' greed. _

_With a fool no season spend, _

_Lest ye be counted as his friend. _

_Merry meet and merry part, _

_Bright the cheeks and warm the heart. _

_Mind the Threefold Law you should, _

_Three times bad and three times good. _

_When misfortune is now, _

_Wear the blue star on thy brow. _

_True in Love ever be, _

_Lest thy lover's false to thee. _

_Eight words the Wiccan Rede fulfill: _

_An ye harm none, do what ye will."*___

_ _

__I knew this sonata was by Mozart, it was lovely, it was the first one that the boy genius had ever written, and how excellent it was. 

And there it was again, more memories, but this time they were about _her_.

*_The lovely raised cottage, painted a fresh shade of tropical pink with white trim, appeared rather wonderful behing the high iron picket fence. The new brick walls were thick and high as they embraced the property on either side. A bank of densely flowering oleander behind the iron pickets shielded the house somewhat from the rest of street, giving the house a refined, secretive air.*_

_ _

It had been the last place I had seen _her_. I closed my eyes trying to ignore the new wave of remembrance that had washed over me, trying to forget all those memories that I had run away from.

_ _

_ _


	2. Gina's Observations

Gina Fileppi sighed as she blew a strand of her long brown hair out of her face

Gina Fileppi sighed as she blew a strand of her long brown hair out of her face. As she took yet another order in the chock-full Harvest Moon Café in the center of New Orleans she let her mind wander from thinking about all of the different types of dressing to put on a petite woman's salad to go back to thinking about that couple that were once regulars at the gourmet café.__

_God, I hate my job. Waitressing must be every sadists dream profession. On your feet all day, crude customers yelling about their orders, and then the tips have seemed to disappear right along with the theory of the sun revolving around the earth._

She pushed the heavy wooden doors leading to the kitchen with her butt as she struggled to balance the remains of about twenty plates. 

"Are the wings for table 13 done yet?" She asked Frank the cook as she tried to re-gain her composure. 

"Right here Gina, you came back just in time." 

"Thanks." She said as she balanced the tray on the palm of her hand and walked out of the swinging doors into the crowed café. 

Smiling at a few people she knew along the way, she made her way over to the table 9 full of men and sat down the steaming plate of hot wings. She laughed as she looked around and saw each of them rub their hands together and look longingly at the pieces of meat on the table. 

"Just let me know if there's anything else I can get you." 

Gina rolled her eyes and shook her head at the childishness that she was witnessing in the grown men and thought about how cool it was that they could still do that even though they all looked to be at least twenty-two years. old.

The little café hardly ever saw anyone but the regulars; mostly they were just lonely people looking for some solace and some familiarity in their lives. She had to admit, she enjoyed their company as much as they enjoyed ours.

_Okay, I'm off the point. I love to watch customers, most specifically, the customers that reoccur like clockwork. There's one couple that comes in at least once a week and grabs a meal. It's either lunch or dinner, depending on their schedules._

_He's a suit man. Perfectly pressed and creased, in three-piece setups that probably cost more than my car. He's stubborn and protective, and I think he has trouble relating to people at times. This guy is also tall, probably around six feet, with silver-blond hair and steel-gray eyes. He's good-looking, there's no doubt. I think he might be a corporate worker or work somewhere in the government; the suits never lie. Those are power suits, suits made to get attention and say, "I'm in charge."_

_Deep down, I think he's got a spy fantasy. Everytime he's dressed the same, no matter what the weather:it's a tan trenchcoat and a fedora. No, I'm not kidding. Trenchcoat and fedora like an old Dick Tracey comic. What makes him different is that he can pull it off. Very, very well; if he wasn't with that Marine all the time I'd make a move._

_Ah, the Marine, the other half of the two peas in a pod. She's short, five feet barely, and has this hair that has to be a bitch to comb out. I've seen it down a couple of times, and it's long and red and thick. Most of the time she comes in wearing her uniform, and I've served them enough to notice the oak leaves on her collar. She's a Major, and from the snippets of conversation I've picked up, she's also a lawyer with the gigantic law firm in Falls Church. I love strong women, of course, it helps that I am one._

_I watch these two like some people watch kittens play. They're so cute together it makes me sick. He's so secretive, even his body language shows it; the way he crosses his arms and gets that half-exasperated look in his eyes when you don't get something just lets you know you he's got stuff you shouldn't know._

_The Marine's another story. She's got her own secrets, I can tell, but she's got more openness to her. I nicknamed her a "hand-talker"; one of those people who always gesture- that's her. Amazingly, she can be eating the sloppiest thing on the menu, gesture around with the food on her fork, and not get a drop of sauce on her uniform. Must be that Marine training._

_Their interaction is amazing. I still remember one time, it was a slower night, and I positioned myself at a table in view of them so I could watch._

_Suit-boy was rubbing the back of his neck, eyes tired, and the suit looking a little crumpled, and I could tell by the way he stared at the tabletop, it wasn't good news he was relaying._

_The Marine sat in her seat, not moving except for rubbing his other arm that was lying across the table and she nodded as he spoke. Her face collapsed as he finished his part of the conversation, and the hand stopped moving._

_He looked up, finally, and I saw the fear in his eyes. She just reached for his other hand and squeezed it. I watched her lips move, and caught the word 'better' at the end of her sentence. Probably something like 'It'll get better' or 'We'll make it better'; I don't know. I do know that he did smile after she said it, and I heard the word 'naïve' as the restaurant settled down into quiet for a minute._

_A naïve Marine, isn't that an oxymoron?_

_They talk about sleep a lot. I pick that up when I give them their food. He usually mentions needing to sleep more, and she agrees he needs to, but it's not idle conversation like most people. They take the sleep thing very seriously. Maybe his job makes it hard, guilt or something._

_Idle conversation is something they never do. The weather is never mentioned, neither is gossip or how the latest Spielberg film is doing. These two have some very serious conversations. Whatever the suit does, I know it requires travel and secrecy, and I know that the Marine goes with it because she wants to be with him. She travels a lot too, and when one or the other isn't in town, the other comes to eat anyway. It's sweet, like they're trying to hold on to each other when they're not there._

_But lately, a bit to my dismay they haven't been coming much. And when they have it was never together. Either the Marine's there alone, looking annoyed and slightly melancholy as she stirs her latte and picks at her food. Or Suit-boy smoking at least a pack of cigarettes in ten minutes meanwhile acting just as lonely-looking as the once-stiff Marine._

_I wonder what happened to them? Had they suddenly broke off they're close relationship? Had it been due to something non-personal? I doubt it though, but whatever the case they still look as if Hell was raised in-front of their faces._

Glancing at her watch, a little while later, Gina smiled as she realized her shift was almost over. It had been a rough night, although she had had fun with a couple tables, joking back and forth. As she was going to check on table 9 one more time, she was motioned over to another table. Gina groaned inwardly as she realized it was the college jerks that she waited on every Friday and Saturday night. Sucking up, she went over to the table with a smile on her face.


	3. Memories

How did you get here 

How did you get here ? It's not a peculiar question, but it's not the question that those who ask wonder about. It is the question of if they are likely to end up there as well. All he usually said was "It's rather easy."

It's incredibly easy to drop out of the 'normal' state of mind (though it is always questionable if who set the example of a 'normal' state of mind was sane himself.) Or even to slip out of our world and into your very own- almost a 'real' fairy tale that you walk through as often as the small child across the street in spring takes his allergy medicine.

Or aside from associating dropping out of the 'normal' state of mind with insanity, thinking of it as developing a new line of thinking. Which, was what he had done from when he had first met _her_ to when he last laid his eyes of _her_ beautiful form.

He smiled slowly, breathing in the chilled air of Margaret's library with books and other nic-nacs dating back to god knows when. A library, as we know, is indiscriminate, a stomah which digests its contents without hierarchies. Actually not. Like a museum, the library selects, forgets, archives, classifies and celebrates. A private library tells a sordid personal history. A national library tells about the barbarism of the community. A library is the cemetary of those who do not have a voice, the definitively dead.

How do you go about reading in an immense library which is built up through the years from streets and museums, from book libraries and from the televised encyclopedia, from rituals pagan and ecclesiatical ? How do you decide where to look in this impossible library ? How to do catalogue its unstable contents ? Is it like picking an ice cream flavor to put in that paper-covered cone in a local sweet store ? Or is reading merely picking through the ruins ?

He was a library in ruins, the ruins of concepts and ideas and mistakes. One of them being his unwise decision of wearing his heart out on his sleeve. Left out to pick at, to scorn and to be stolen away the one girl who he'd never expect with all the twists and turns the world had made since then would leave him alone in the end to heal his scars.

" Haunted heart … won't let me be … Dreams repeat a sweet but lonesome song to me …" He whispered into the musty, cool air.

" Kiwotsukeru hitomajiwari osanagokoro," Hyejin's grandmother said softly, smiling at her. 

" I'm sorry?" She said, surprised. She had a very basic knowledge of Japanese, thanks to some small international business transactions, but she had no idea what the old woman had just said to her. The woman then walked away without explaining, disappearing into one of the many bedrooms in her colleague, Hyejin's house. _'Man, this house is crowded'_, she thought as she made my way through the masses of relatives that had all come for my colleague's surprise party. She was sure she'd get no sleep: she was sharing one of the guest rooms with Hyejin and two of her cousins.

" She said 'Be careful with his heart'," Hyejin's voice came suddenly from the shadows of the doorway of her room. 

" What does she mean by that?" She asked, my heart racing. How could Hyejin's grandmother possibly know that she had once been reckless with _his _heart? Reckless with _his_ heart … she hadn't really thought of it like that before.

" Who knows?" Hyejin said, as she joined her as they walked down the stairs to the very center of the party full with relatives, caterers and practically anyone else that could fit in Hyejin's fashionable studio apartment. " She's getting a little senile in her old age. Women in my family live forever … it's kind of daunting." She said with a laugh before excusing herself to go mingle with the other guests.

She started to remember him, little by little, and soon all the pieces of his puzzle were pieced. At least, the ones she'd managed to collect over the years.

She allowed herself to imagine what _his_ lips might taste like now. Not like the butterbeer of their youth, surely. There would be traces of cigarette smoke; she imagined he'd had a smoke this morning, early, just after the sun had come up behind the clouds. Then there would be the taste of coffee: sharp and dull, probably the only breakfast he'd had. Somewhere in the mix there would the taste of pure _him_, a flavor she'd sampled only once. She could barely remember, now.

As she walked around Hyejin's home with a glass of sherry in hand, she couldn't help but shut her eyes, trying to make the darkness of the world seep into her mind, making it dark. Thus, free of those taunting memories. When she opened them again I stood in-front of the massive brick fireplace. The fireplace reminds one of a white Christmas, a time to rejoice, love, a time to build up new memories for a new year. However, judging from the decoration of the room; tipsy members of Hyejin's family, bowls of punch, and the traces of the multi-layered chocolate cake: it seemed that it was not such a cookie-cutter type of day as the fireplace gave off. There were no long socks stuffed with presents on the fireplace. There were no pine trees in the room, no twinkling light bulbs, no angels, no silver bells and no candles on the copper candle stands either. 

The marble clock on the fireplace had its hour hand moving towards one, the minute hand towards nine, and the position of the second hand was uncertain. It was already past midnight. If it was a coach, it would have reverted to a pumpkin, if it was a horse, it would have reverted to a mouse, and the ballgown would have reverted to rags and tatters. 

Yes, it was past midnight. But according to the fairy tale, before midnight Cinderella will have met a prince. Zero hour is always worrisome. How will things be at zero hour plus one ? Can the future be seen through the mirror ?


End file.
